Aaron Collins' Film-tier Chapter 1
by Psychoflop
Summary: The Vodka Western begins...


_Barter makes the Russia go 'round..._

February 1st, 2014, Julian Calendar – Khabarovsk, Russia

It was an expression everyone had known across the Eurasian frontier for well over a century, and it constantly held true. Oh sure, money still existed in this world (especially in towns as remote as Khabarovsk) but societies thrived on trade, especially trade in lands with little law. The Russian government's policy was to let its' citizens alone save for harming other citizens. But the definition of "harm" was a grey area that many could define.

Khabarovsk was pretty much the only city of any note in Eastern Russia, and only because of its' close proximity to Imperial China. 144, 360 people as of a recent census, mostly descendants from the massive immigration wave of the 19th century from North America who wanted to keep to themselves (hence why they didn't continue on to Moscow or anywhere else further west). It was a mild-weather city, in fact it was actually starting spring 2 months early. If you lived along the Amur River, like our main protagonist Andrey Iskanov did, you may even say Khabarovsk was the best place west of the Japakorean commonwealth.

Andrey was 1 of the only full-blooded Russians left in Khabarovsk (well, that weren't part of the A.M., more on that later). He made his living by being a freelance photographer. Mostly for the local newspaper, but if you had the rubles or the goods to trade, he would take a shot of anyone and develop it personally. Unless you were A.M...

A.M. stands for Aborussianal Mafiya. It started as a simple social club for native Russians who grew so frustrated at immigrants controlling their native land that they began bullying their way back into power. There were laws protecting citizens from harm, but Moscow couldn't be bothered by land so far away. About 5 years ago, they offered Andrey membership and he refused. He remembered his father showing him an A.M controlled restaurant using "any" animal they could to construct a menu. Andrey has been an animal lover ever since, even the thought of what else was in Khabarovsk Pigeon stew made him feel nauseated to this day.

This day however, was particularly noteworthy. It was the 150th anniversary of the signing of Russia's declaration of citizen reform. Of course for Andrey it was a typical Monday morning. He woke up, made himself a breakfast consisting of Orange Juice and a rudimentary cereal made from nuts and vegetables he dried and grounded himself. Once he finished eating, he headed downstairs from his apartment to a part of the ground floor known as the message desk. Every housing development had someone running a telegram delivery service for its' tenants (mostly paid by free lodgings, barter works everywhere, even in the places Andrey had friends in, he even got 1 a month ago from the ghost continent of North America).

"Any messages for me?"

The telegram girl (a brunette whose name eluded Andrey even after he shot her naked), checked the wall behind her which featured every tenant's name written alphabetically, a nail under each name, and if you had any messages, pieces of paper nailed to them sorted by how far they came (which was required to start every Telegram no matter where it came from (You could even send messages outside of Russia for the right price if you didn't mind a long delay). Andrey had 1, and it had come the night before, locally. She handed it to Andrey, who read the dots and dashes like it was English:

_Andrey, the barn behind the Orthodox church near your house has been ruled for auction by the Sheriff. They're selling what's inside to the highest bidder so get your rubles together. I know you don't go to too many auctions but this one is for you._

_See you soon,_

_Lindsay_

"Thank you" said Andrey. He headed back upstairs to grab a money belt and then out for the auction, and he knew Lindsay quite well. She was 1 of those people in every town who knew what everyone liked, so Andrey walked briskly along 9th street (which ran parallel to the Amur River). He arrived at the Auction with about 20 minutes to spare, heading straight for Lindsay, the only elderly woman with a clipboard.

"Morning Lin, sign me in."

"Oh good Andrey, you got my message."

"I did, thank you."

"Good luck."

Lindsay worked her way through the crowd and stood on top of an old fence to project her voice (which was a challenge, for her 1.55 metre tall body). "ATTENTION EVERYONE!?"

The crowd all turned to her quickly.

"Just a few rules before we open the barn. We're going to open the barn, you're going to get a couple of minutes to look at the contents inside. DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING OR GO INSIDE! This is a Rubles-only sale. Bid only with the cash you have in your pocket, QUESTIONS?"

The crowd shook their heads in unison.

"Let's proceed, shall we?"

The path had been arranged the night before so that you could walk in a North-South loop, see the inside, and walk back out to where you originally gathered. Andrey needed all of 1/100th of a second to see why Lindsay sent him a telegram. There were dozens, even hundreds of canisters of unused film. All in continuous spools, he quickly headed back to where everyone had assembled but made a place for himself to quickly do some math in his head, regarding if a fringe art form in Moscow could be brought to Khabarovsk...he barely contained himself as he thought to himself, "I could put together a moving picture. At long last, my ticket to retirement."

Just then, several people he "knew" came out of the loop, they recognized him and approached him, surrounding him. "Now Andrey, with us here, you know you can't win. But we may let you have the film if you joined us."

Andrey shuddered at the notion of joining the Aborussianal Mafiya: The tattoo on his neck (he didn't trust the instruments used to be clean, and going by the number of people who died from the infection, one couldn't blame him), the cruelty to all animals, the cruelty to his fellow man (especially the Non-Aborussianal). Andrey wanted the film, but he wanted his morals more. The mafiya read his non-verbal cues accurately, shrugged and pushed him out of the way. Andrey turned his attention to Lindsay, who by now was trying to determine the value of the opening bid. Lindsay began the fast auction-speak, that seemed to be constant across the multiverse.

"12,500 rubles, do I hear 12,500?"

Andrey raised his hand

"Thank you, do I hear 25,000 rubles?"

A mafiya soldier shouted, "Yyyyyesssss Madam"

Andrey wanted to make a statement, "50,000 rubles"

Each gave Andrey a smirk of condescension, "100,000"

"A QUARTER MILLION RUBLES!"

Andrey didn't make the bid, neither did the mafiya. In fact, both of them looked around to source where the bid had come from. It seemed to come from a young man of heavy build. Dirty blonde hair, goatee, obviously a few years younger than Andrey or anyone in the Mafiya. No A.M tattoo on the neck either, so if Andrey lost, he didn't mind losing to this guy, as he was an "independant bidder", like he was. Then the Mafiya (after a huddle) shouted,

"HALF A MILLION!"

Andrey took a quick look in his money belt as Lindsay spoke, "half a million rubles going once, going twice..."

Andrey raised his hand and proclaimed, "1 MILLION RUBLES"

The Mafiya shook their heads, they were out.

"2 MILLION!"

The third man in this bidding war however was most certainly not out of the bidding. Andrey looked at the ground, knowing he didn't have the rubles. "2 million rubles, going once, going twice...SOLD! To the mystery bidder whose name is..."

"I prefer to remain anonymous. I'm just a short shirt wearing rep for my...gambler of a father back home in the Ghost continent."

"As long as you settle up your rubles with me, it is your right to remain anonymous, sir."

The mystery man nodded in agreement to Lindsay's conditions, but Andrey could tell that the Mafiya were not happy and were going to try to jump him. "We do not take kindly to outsiders stealing what should be Aborussianal property"

"Should've bid more..."

Andrey got between them, "Gentlemen, he won fair and square, something your little group isn't used to, granted..."

The biggest of the Mafiya soldiers grew frustrated, "This does not concern the traitor of all of Russian Nationalism Pride"

Andrey smiled, "And we lost that 1 fair and square too. 150 years ago today. Now are you going to throw the first punch to get your goons 15 days in lockup?"

The mystery man gave a puzzled look at Andrey, it took Andrey a second to understand this man's frustration. He gladly shared with the mystery bidder

"The A.M get their weapons removed before an auction. Actually I'm surprised I wasn't searched."

Lindsay interjected, "That's because I trust you, Andrey. Even I don't trust the A.M., but I can't prevent them from coming to my auctions. I even had to search short shirt boy over here, nothing personal."

The mystery bidder waved it off, knowing that it's standard procedure to weapon check at Auctions all over the world. Then he felt the need to be a bit arrogant to the A.M. "Oh, I apologize Mafiya men I forgot you were there. You may go now."

The Mafiya, feeling dejected, left the auction. The mystery bidder to this credit, handed Lindsay the 2 million rubles immediately after the Mafiya left. Lindsay smiled, know that her cut was 400,000, "This will balance my books for the next 3 months. Thank you sir." She then marked the winning bidder section of her clipboard with an "X" to suggest that the bidder was anonymous but paid in good standing. Andrey shrugged his shoulders, "Thanks for the invite, sorry I didn't win." Then he turned to the winner, "Well played, sir." offering his hand to shake. The mystery bidder shook it quickly, knowing that Andrey was intending the handshake in sincerity, unlike most of the bidders he had encountered in his lifetime. Andrey then spoke out of relief, "Better to lose to one from the ghost continent than the A.M"

"The A.M are such a laughing stock outside of Russia. Clinging onto ideals a century and a half out of date They will be even more of a laughing stock when I tell the world that they have an impostor, a non-russian in their ranks."

Andrey tilted his head sideways, "Who might that be?"

The bidder was quick to answer, "The one that extended his yes, he was a top bidder back on the ghost continent, then when he tried to falsely implicate that our auctions were staged and lost, he left our land, a national disgrace."

Andrey had a quick laugh and then shifted the conversation to one of business, "Any plans for the film?"

"Yeah, flip it for more than I bought it for."

"That could take some time."

"Why? No other buyers in town?"

"You would think that in a town this big that I would have some competition for the use of film, but I don't. I sort of have a monopoly on photography in this part of Russia. Hell, I'm starting to get customers from Imperial China and even Japakorea because it's cheaper for them to travel here by horse, train or steamship..."

The sentence was easy to finish for the bidder who was giving Andrey his full attention, "...than it is to stay home and get services from 1 of their own country. That's actually a bit sad when 1 thinks about it."

Andrey nodded while the mystery bidder racked his brain, trying to find alternative ways to make profit on what he just bought, "Is Russia the barter society that it's claimed to be in rumour?"

Andrey nodded.

"Tell you what, it's still early in the day. Take me somewhere for a coffee and I'll make a proposal to you that will benefit both of us."

"Deal."

Coffee was a product that was not easy to come by in Russia, especially to a town as remote as Khabarovsk. First the beans were cultivated on a plantation somewhere in Southern India, British Territory. Then they had to be bartered with traders in Imperial China (and good luck finding a trader who didn't try to impose a fee to enter the country as it was completely walled off at certain points). Then they had to travel all the way to the Russian border without losing the beans, getting them confiscated by Imperial Chinese police officers or getting stolen by Triad outlaws. Then you had to know English (or at least non-Cyrillic Russian) to even speak to a trader or a shopkeeper in Khabarovsk, then finally have to get what you traded for it all the way back home while avoiding the same problems. After 4 tries, they found a Saloon called The Ingression, complete with a "We have Coffee" sign. They walk inside to a surprisingly clean establishment: Off-white rock walls on all sides, no tobacco stains anywhere, an executive wooden bar that was darkly stained with counters for customers on all 4 sides (like an indoor oasis), and a piano player who (unlike most establishments), actually kept the piano in tune. Andrey opened his money belt, took out a 500 ruble note and placed it on the table.

"2 Coffees please, black for mine, what do you take in yours good sir?"

"Black as well please, I know sugar and dairy products are tight in these parts." He answered with a hint of compassion for the barkeep. He poured them their coffees from a large black pot with a smile. Few customers paid in cash these days and there was only so many people that he could "let them work off their tab"

"Keep the change, but point us to the quietest table you got"

The bartender pointed to a booth in the corner...next to indoor outhouses

"Hope the smell doesn't bother you" said the winning bidder

Andrey shook his head and laughed as they walked to the Northwest corner, they took their seats across from each other. Andrey opened the dialogue of business: "OK, what's your proposal?"

The anonymous bidder cleared his throat, preparing for a long speech: "Once a month the Aborussianal Mafia gets a shipment of Vodka in from Moscow along the Trans-Siberian Railway. The shipment varies in size depending on month. 1 train car is standard, Summer months would be 2 cars, December was 4 packed to the brim, and this month, if history is any guide, we will see some spillover into a 5th car. It won't be all Vodka but rather a mix of Vodka, customers who paid for a seat, and some rich people who've paid for a journey long enough to be sleeping."

"February, the month of the Valentines."

"Get all of the Vodka off of the train into my custody, and the film is yours."

Andrey needed a few moments to think this through. Vodka came to Khabarovsk in barrels, each barrel was 3 cubic feet, each car had room for over 100 barrels. Based on Andrey's educated guesswork, he needed to handle about 450 barrels of Vodka. It would not be easy, and he would need a lot of help, but this caper was worth it if it meant that he had enough film to last him for at least a decade, if not the rest of his life.

"What do you plan to do with that much Vodka?" asked Andrey, hoping this bidder was not addicted to this drink.

"Sell and barter about half of the barrels so I can rent a steamship all to myself, crew and food. Then as far as I'm concerned, what I do with the other half when I return home to the ghost continent is none of your business.

Andrey nodded in agreement, it was not his right to pry into the affairs of a relative stranger "How long do I have until the shipment?"

"It's due to arrive in 4 days."

"Well at least I have long enough to ask for help and to plan it all. OK sir, you have a deal."

They shook hands, sealing a deal amongst honourable gentlemen. Then the piano player stopped playing. Andrey glanced over and saw 3 members of the A.M., and they were heading for their booth.

"So...now that we have our weapons back, let's go outside and you will give us the film, yes?"

"My winning bid, my property, and if you steal it from me (dead or alive), you will take a trip to the North Gulag Gallows."

The Aborussianal Mafiyosos laughed hysterically.

"2 barrels of our Vodka and we won't even see a jail cell."

Andrey laughed, "Bribing a sheriff that was sworn into sobriety? Do you aspire to be such a moron or does it come to you naturally?"

"He can trade it to feed his stable and fill his guns"

Andrey sighed, feeling like he was talking to a 2-year old, "And let's not forget that you are shooting unarmed men in front of..."

Andrey paused to make a headcount, the mystery bidder had to fight the urge to burst into a fit of belly laughter

"...17 eyewitnesses, excluding the staff of this establishment."

The mafiyosos took turns trying to count the people in the room, and to the amusement of Andrey and the bidder, none of them got past 5. "Then perhaps, we get your film by old-fashioned fist fighting. After we bribe witnesses to close eyes we get 5 days in local jail...at the most."

A strange voice then shouted, "With your illegal licenses to carry guns, as well as the other charges, I'll see to it that you're hung in the north gallows myself."

Everyone in the saloon turned their attention to a short, stout man of authority. He was not of Russian blood, but this town respected him. They even made a legend about his ability to stop crimes from starting (or from getting worse if they had started). His name and title (but not respectively), was Sheriff Isaac Tong. He walked over calmly and stood between the A.M soldiers and the 2 civilians in the booth.

"So what is it this time boys? The old 'we're upset that our bad reputation and Ill-gotten gains aren't enough to win an auction containing a large amount of a unique find so we're going to follow the winner and an associate who also bid to a peaceful establishment where you can try to publicly harass and threaten them with outdoor execution' routine?"

The Mafiyosos were dumbfounded that their day's actions were so accurately described by an outsider. Isaac turned to the largest of the 3, a man known only as Ivan "Lucky 7" Gorbachev.

"I know it's inevitable, but try not to act innocent in 3 seconds."

Ivan (sure enough), tried to laugh it off. "We're just congratulating them on a great auction. Besides, you have no right to search us until after we commit at least a class-d crime."

Sheriff Isaac, to his chagrin, nodded. "True, as long as your guns stay hidden or the like I can't do anything. But taking out your 7-shot nagant pistols, shooting me in the heart and dragging my carcass back to headquarters is worth what? 20 Million Rubles? So go ahead, skin your 7-shooters, see what happens."

The Mafiyosos stood there in the silence.

"Didn't think so. Now, while I can't search you..."

Isaac pulls out HIS 7-shot nagant

"...I can hold you here until the cooler of this establishment arrives in..."

The barkeep stares at the floor and says, "We can't afford a cooler."

Isaac sighed, "Then under Khabarovsk law: in the absence of a cooler, I exercise Sheriff's prerogative and must ask you to leave this premises on the grounds of disturbing the peace. Unless 1 of you want a bloodbath after all?"

They turned and headed for the door. Isaac smiled, tipped his hat and started to head out himself with the A.M. soldiers. Satisfied that they were not coming back, Isaac returned inside. The barkeep stopped him, "Want a coffee on the house?"

Isaac pondered the offer for a nanosecond, at most "Why not?"

The bidder, impressed with the civil manner in which the Sheriff carried himself in a matter so tense, asked Isaac, "Wanna join us?"

Isaac nodded, and took his seat. "Now I know who you are Andrey, you took a wonderful photo of my son last month. But who might you be?"

The bidder sighed, realizing that he had little option other than to reveal himself in the presence of the city Sheriff, "My name is Brandon, Brandon Sheets."

Isaac took out a pad of paper and a small pencil, "As my deputy is on the other side of town, I will have to take your statements myself. Just tell me the whole truth."

Andrey gulped, thinking Isaac would stop the liberation of Aborussianal Mafiya Vodka before it started.


End file.
